


How did they ever become friends?

by All_my_favorite_characters_are_empresses



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-02-04 09:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18602233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/All_my_favorite_characters_are_empresses/pseuds/All_my_favorite_characters_are_empresses
Summary: I do not own Sherlock or any of BBC's material.





	1. White Horse

Their relationship worked in snapshots almost- as in several moments in their lives.

Imagine if you can- two college kids; a boy and a girl. The boy is tall with curly hair and bright eyes, the color of the sea after a storm, even as he has evidence of a few facial bruises and a bloody nose. The much shorter girl has honey colored hair the falls just below her shoulders while her brown almond eyes portray her emotions like a canvas. They are sitting outside, at night in the mid of winter. The girl is in a black mini skirt, with a red one shouldered glittery top and a humorously large black coat wrapped around her as she leaned heavily against the taller boy on a Cambridge Campus bench.

Now zoom in to the situation and rewind just a bit.

Music was pounding, lights made everything blurrier as the girl stumbled through the crowd trying to see what everyone crowded around near the door, "Let me through!" She meant to shout over people but was drowned through her own slurring and the much louder noises of the party.

When she managed to push her way to the front, she saw the boy getting punched for what she could assume was the third of fifth time considering the already present bruises that are positioned and that the kid on top of him is right handed, "Sherlock!" The girl shook her head and closed her eyes for a moment trying to collect herself enough before she shouted clearly for a change, "Sherlock!"

She grabbed the kid's hair and pulled back surprising him as he tumbled backwards and suddenly arms reached out to grab her from behind around the waist. She struggled against them. Suddenly she felt the force on the top of her head as the clash of glass breaking over her head was heard while the crowd shouted, and she felt much weaker.

The beaten boy took advantage and turned on his attacker, knocking him out in two punches and standing up as quickly as he could. He turned to the girl who was weakly trying to struggle as someone held her still and he scoffed plying the arms of her holder away. She sort of fell from the change in pressure and fell into the Sherlock's arms as he rolled his eyes.

Some other guy tried to throw a punch but the boy, Sherlock simply evaded it by moving and pulling the stumbling girl with him backwards towards the door. The punch hit a bystander and soon a brawl had started while the boy and girl had just managed to make it out the door.

"Iris Athena Brook. What were you doing?" Sherlock stopped walking after he felt the girl stumble on her two inch heels for the fourth time. He knew she was drunk, that was no question and by the closed eyes and concentrated breathing, she was trying to be coherent enough to speak with him. Moving his hands he placed them on either side of her head, forcing her to look up at him, "No, you can't fall asleep right now."

She looked up at Sherlock's face, surprised by his raised voice but only for a second as her eyelids drooped again and she shook her head again, "Can we …go outside?" Iris, the girl, knew he was right and that she probably had a concussion from getting hit over the head with a… vodka bottle?

 

Sherlock was happy that some sense was getting back to her as he wrapped an arm around her waist in an effort to get her outside sooner and without her ending up on the floor of the dorm hallways. He held her on one arm while opening the door with the other as the cold air hit them and he felt the girl's body shiver as he suddenly realized just how short her shirt was, "Come here." He led her to one of the benches on the sidewalk but before she could sit he held her forearms up, "Good?"

Confused a bit she regained the balance that she had lost in trying to keep up with his long strides as he slipped off his long thick coat and threw it behind her, dramatically wrapping it around her shoulders, "Sherlo-" She tried shrugging it off.

He was relentless as he cut her off quick and void of emotion, "I am wearing a button down and jeans, much better equipped than you for this temperature."

The boy sat down on the bench and she followed mildly amused by the sight of her own breathing in the cold night air, "But that's the point, it keeps me awake." Her words mumbled a bit and she rolled her head onto Sherlock's shoulder.

Looking down at the tired girl he had to wonder how she had ever weaved herself into his life enough that he had felt the need to make sure she was okay when he got her text, "Awake is good, but blue with hypothermia is not." He really wasn't sure what to expect when he got to her dorm but a raging party was not it.

Seemingly finding his shoulder comfortable she moved closer to him and lifted her feet to sit next to her, covering her legs with the coat, "True but it wouldn't look good if my prince charming was frozen in my stead."

Sherlock laughed a little at his friend's drunkenness, this wasn't the first time he had found her like this and each time he did she had something to say about him. It got even funnier in the morning when he brought it back up to her and she'd get sassy about the entire experience, "It seems to me that you have yourself in a droll type of fairytale."

Hugging his arm she smiled, "But it's mine isn't it?" Her speech was still slurred and wandering by the end of her statement.

"Whatever you say." Sherlock muttered before he felt the weight on his arm increase by a pound, "Ris, stay awake."

"Sorry, I just feel so… drained."

"Ris!" He said a bit louder finally looking at her to make sure her eyes were open, "What's 17 times 33?"

She giggled into his shirt before replying, "Your coat is really warm."

Rolling his eyes impatiently, "Seventeen times thirty-three?" He was unused to talking to Iris like a child and unused to her drinking at all, especially this much.

The girl sighed dramatically, "Five hundred sixty one."

He nodded, although walking and being conscience weren't always possible it always seemed her logical thinking was so that's what he always resorted to, "Why did you text me?"

"Because I wanted you to be there!" As though it was the most obvious thing in the world and Sherlock knew no good answer could be received from her by her state of mind presently, "Why were they punching you?"

This time he looked down and around the area, "I asked where you were, the man wouldn't tell me so I told his girlfriend he was cheating on her." This time Iris rolled her eyes and laughed in good humor, "With his boyfriend." Sherlock joined her.

"Now I wish I was there." Controlling her laugh she could just imagine the look on everyone's face.

They laughed and after a minute on silence Sherlock asked again, "How many noble gases exist?"

"Why?" Iris groaned.

"How many?" …

"Iris!" His tone wasn't desperate at all, just quick and forceful; almost scary if she didn't know him so well.

She yawned, "Six. Helium, radon, neon, argon, xenon, krypton." Before Sherlock could ask her another question, "Sherlock why am I so tired?" Surroundings were still blurred and she still felt like everything was spinning as she kept her eyes closed and covers by Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock checked his phone to see it has been about ten minutes after she got hit, "Where do you want to go for the night?" He wouldn't be sending her back to that building any time soon and he basically already knew she'd be with him tonight.

"Is your apartment available?" He lived off campus, in an apartment paid for by his parents and alone because, unsurprisingly, very few people can stand living with him.

Nodding he stood and offered a hand to the disrupted girl who fell sideways at her lack of his shoulder, smirking at her disarray, "Well then we'd best get out of this cold." Her pouting face turned on as she stood from the bench irritated at her friend's always sudden movements and she fell forward a bit before he caught her arms.

Slipping his arm around her waist he supported her walking, "Why do we have to walk?" She whined and Sherlock again rolled his eyes. Her drunk was so different from her usual demeanor and yet so alike.

"I apologize for forgetting my white horse and shining armor today," Sherlock said sarcastically and dryly as Iris tripped on her own feet again while she laughed getting the joke still, and Sherlock just rolled his eyes, how did they ever become friends?

 


	2. "You've got a __________ in me"

Another picture- if you will.

The stand, side by side, barely an inch apart, while holding intricately decorated teacups and platters in the hands.   
Their bodies are leaning back against a kitchen counter while they bother to refuse to look at the other directly, instead glancing at one another sidelong. However, the boy has this look of admiration while the girl is tinted pink from laughter while hiding a smile in her tea.

Let's rewind…

The boy has his hands in his pockets as he jumps around in the girl's cramp dormitory. The girl is in shorts and a grey cardigan while she has a bag over her shoulder. She's looking much better today as she smiles encouragingly to her friend.

"This could be my first case, not to mention it's so simple!"

Brown eyes shined back at him, "That's great Sherlock, but you will have to be careful about it."

He waved off her concern as they moved out of the door and Iris moved to lock it, "I don't expect it to be hard, plus I'll have you with me; the chances of us both failing is almost nonexistent."

Her laugh echoes in the hallway as they continued walking and she turned to him walking back a bit, "Wait, since when am I going with you? You are the one who is going to be a consulting detective." Iris was the only one he had told about what he wanted to do. Sherlock knew that he had to succeed in it before his parents would agree, or even care.

Sherlock ruffled his own hair in frustration, "But you're clever! Why you are limiting yourself to pathology is beyond me!" His tone was disapproving and a bit harsh but Iris was used to it as she rolled her eyes.

"I’d hardly call pathology limited."

"I’d call it sensible but limited," Sherlock muttered and she smiled humorously.

"Such high praise." She muttered back and even in his annoyance he smiled. On campus they were walking, "Where to today?"

"I wa-" He was cut off by a different voice entirely.

"Mr. Holmes." It was a young woman, older than them and dressed professionally with her eyes glued to a blackberry cell phone, "Come with me please."

The two students looked over the woman before looking at each other and Sherlock raised his eyebrows and waved his wrists in a 'be-my-guest' motion. Smirking Iris shrugged- the shoes, the careless attention, the Blackberry newest edition, "Well, you can tell Mycroft to come to get us himself." The unknown woman stared up at them now, and Iris took Sherlock's arm suddenly and kissed his cheek, "We'll be home by eight, right sweetie?"

Sherlock in all in usual composure nodded, "I should think so darling." The woman just sighed and looked back at her phone, turned and walked away.

Iris continued to hold onto Sherlock's arm and he raised an eyebrow, "Did something change in the past sixteen hours that I haven't seen you?"

Scoffing she shook her head and pushed away from his side, making him wish he hadn't say anything, "Sorry Mr. Holmes, I forgot you wouldn't want your bachelor status forfeited."

Sherlock rolled his eyes while ignoring his heart rate increase. Iris always did stuff like this and Sherlock never knew how to interpret it. No one else was ever as… friendly, as she was. He was 89% sure that he liked it. Not to mention, half the campus probably assume they were closer than friends anyways, "Like that's of any consequence."

They spent the day walking around campus, making simple errands and taking their time as Iris always made Sherlock do on off days.

They went off to dinner at six at a little place down the road and Sherlock mentioned he was out of bread, milk, and butter since he had just finished a few experiments. Taking it upon herself she caught a cab with him to the grocery store and physically dragged him through it for things he needed since she couldn't remember a time he had shopped for himself while out with her.

He paid cab fare back to his apartment and glared at her in the taxi all the way home, only to her amusement.

"Why am I carrying the gallon of milk and bin of butter while you've got only the bread?"

"Because it's your food," Iris replied quickly a with a smile that made any actual anger at her disappear into a condescending smile. As they got to his door Iris turned the handle and surprisingly it opened, "And it seems we have company." Sherlock always locked his doors and made sure she locked hers.

Opening the door wide, her comment proved true as a figure sat at the small table provided for taking meals and Iris rolled her eyes at the dramatics.

Wordlessly she took the bags from Sherlock forcing him to be the first to speak, "Brother, I believe you misunderstood, Iris did not mean to be inviting."

He flicked the lights on higher power while Iris put the groceries on his kitchen counter.

Mycroft was a thicker man, well dressed as he sat on the chair with an empty mug in front of him, "Oh, Sherlock, right on time, I just ran out of tea."

"You better go back home and make some," Sherlock replied and Iris clenched her teeth, she hadn't met Mycroft yet but Sherlock detested talking about him. She stayed in the kitchen, unmoving, to try and overhear without being in that room.

"Is that any way to greet a guest? You haven't even introduced Miss Brook."

Sherlock rolled his eyes hoping he could've gotten rid of Mycroft without bringing Iris into it, "Ris." She appeared in the doorway within the second confirming to Sherlock she was waiting right inside it, "Iris, this is my brother Mycroft."

Smiling to attempt to let Sherlock know she was okay with this she moved to his side and leaned forward to outstretch her hand, "Mr. Holmes." Sherlock noted that her voice was different in saying it then how she would say that phrase to him, it lacked familiarity.

Mycroft stood to shake her hand with what some would consider a pleasant smile whereas Iris saw it as a leer or smirk, her shoulders straightened out of habit, "Mycroft, please-"

"And you can call me Miss Brook." Her smile was still bright and her tone sweet but the bite in her words made Sherlock smirk proudly. He corrected himself however once he realized he had no reason to be proud.

The elder Holmes raised his eyebrows at the girl and then to Sherlock as he laughed humorlessly, "Is that so, and how are your studies Miss Brook?"

"I believe you already know." Mycroft and Sherlock simultaneously smiled at her, Mycroft at the challenge in her tone and Sherlock at her swaying on her feet as though Mycroft's harsh gaze was only a breeze.

In complete disregard to Iris now, as though she was a lamp in the room, Mycroft talked to his brother, "She is entertaining brother. I see why you keep company in her."

Sherlock was never particularly happy with Mycroft but this comment just irked him more, "Iris-"

"Is still in the room." She finished for him with another sickly sweet smile.

Condescendingly Mycroft smiled at her, too, "Yes, she is. And what is this Sherlock? Your first friend?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer but Iris beat him to it, "And how many of those do you have?"

Silence.

Sherlock looked between those two and smirked, "Do make sure the door hits you on the way out." He didn't expect her to answer the unspoken question. Their relationship was much more of a mutual partnership than anything else.

…"Of 'course." Mycroft submitted to not being wanted in the room any longer, "I'll be checking on you Sherlock and do have fun with that case of yours." Mycroft moved to the door which Sherlock held open with an insistent look.

Sherlock slammed it and laughed with a victorious jump into the air, "Brilliant!" His eyes sparkled and he grinned at Iris, "You are brilliant!"

Iris had just made the man feel unwelcomed, it wasn't difficult, but then she remembered that Mycroft had commented on her being Sherlock's friend. Shaking her head, she put away the groceries, "Of 'course, I mean, what are friends for?" The tall man stood a bit shocked in the living area and Iris smirked at hearing his silence, "Do you want any tea?"

Finally, he responded assured yet his voice had changed from enthusiastic to… something else, "Two sugars." Something a bit more serious; he leaned against the counter in the kitchen, out of her way around the stove and cabinets.

She already knew but nodded anyway, "I can see the reason for his dietary concerns."

Sherlock was still recovering and he looked at the back of her head as she moved about his kitchen smoothly and tried to decipher how she had figured out Mycroft's diet, "It is wishful thinking on his part."

As she picked up their teas she turned to face him and handed him the cup and platter, "I'm sure." She had noticed the eldest brother had three sugar cubes next to his tea mug meaning he had cut back on the sugar he had intended to put in. Iris leaned against the counter next to Sherlock neither moving to actually sit, "He's a bit of an arse isn't he?"

Mildly entertained Sherlock chuckled lowly before nodding, "He can be that way yes."

"I can see the family relation."

With a harsh glare Sherlock looked at her but by the beaming smile on her face only grew to a laugh as she put down her cup to laugh. Happy enough with her composure break down Sherlock smirked and rolled his eyes while she coughed to stop laughing.

Finally when she did she tilted her head, "I am your friend right?"

Again Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Obviously," It only became obvious to him five minutes ago but Iris took it as a good answer as she sipped her tea calmly now. Smirking Sherlock added, "Must be because we are so similar."

Stifling a laugh in her teacup she took a deep breath, "Yes, I suppose you are right." She didn't know how it got to the point where she was friends with this sassy yet insensitive little brat (then again, maybe they were similar) how did they ever become friends?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Sherlock or any of BBC's material.


	3. "Not Leaving"

Then came the first half and half photo- when they weren't together.

Up until now you may have figured out that the Sherlock in these pictures and the Sherlock you know are very different.

The Sherlock in this picture is… hungrier. His eyes have bags under them and his usually chestnut colored hair is darker, greasier. Standing alone in his apartment, a mess with experiments. He moves from experiment to experiment eyes glazed over chasing a high he never seems to reach. He hasn't slept in days yet his mind is still whirring, possibly thanks the white powder that could easily be found in his apartment.

Iris is at the police station talking to a greying man, detective Lestrade. She has grown into her figure a bit more, which is expected, she's been gone for 36 months. Perched in a chair, her eyes shine like they always have and Lestrade hands her an envelope with an address on it. Her smile thanks him and he is happy to comply.

This is where this chapter begins.

“Do you want to tell me why my boss’s boss has personally recommended you for this?”

The question was ignored, "Thank you so much detective, I'll take care of it right away."

"Miss Brook, I can offer you only minimum protection in this position. You have not seen this man -"

"I understand, you see I had been keeping contact with him for a while-"

"Two months isn't a while." The older detective was very adamant as he leaned against the front of his desk, "This is a very serious situation if I hadn't gotten the call Mr. Holmes would be in jai-"

Standing Iris had lost patience, "Excuse me, Detective but I believe you have your orders and so do I. You have a wonderful night."

The older man could see the determination in her eyes, and the true concern. He smiled at her sincerely as he walked to his door to let her out "Good luck Miss Brook."

She nodded and walked out of the door and out to the elevator then to the street to hail a cab.

Some people would think her crazy for rushing to a police station to help bail out a friend of hers that she hasn't seen or heard from in months, all because she got a call from said distanced-friend's older brother.

Who was kinda her boss lately.

I never said it wasn’t complicated.

Arriving at the well-known apartment she hadn't even touched the envelope with the address in it. Sherlock wouldn't have moved. She walked up the corridor until getting to his door. Honestly, she was overcome with the smell coming from the room. The keyhole had scratches around it and the hinges looked worse for wear as though someone had slammed the door open or close too many times.

Iris shook her head almost knowing what to expect but wishing she didn't.

The ring of keys jingled as she opened the door using the key she had been ignoring for over a three years. The door creaked and Iris was listening carefully for any indication of what was inside the room. Sherlock would never intentionally hurt her bu-

_Click._

She slammed the door quickly and jumped away just as the loud gunshot reached her ears and crack of wood gave her more motivation to jump away from the door. The small bullet hole was precise through the door and she sighed taking deep breaths, "Sherlock! You could've killed me!"

The silence on the other side of the door was more deafening than the gunshot. She reached for the door knob again slowly and opened it to see a still Sherlock staring at her in the middle of his apartment. She would've smiled at his surprise except she barely recognized him.

"What happened to you?" The words escaped her lips before she could think, for once.

She didn't know if he even heard them as he simply turned away from her and into his kitchen.

"Sherlock?" She stood in the entrance way still inspecting the room. He had three ashtrays now, possibly more in his room or the bath. She could see streaks that he neglected to wash off and the hiding places.

He didn't even bother to look at her when she spoke, he couldn't care right now. He was in the middle of something.

Iris was used to sprees when Sherlock would be experimenting, granted not usually in such a crude environment or with such terseness. Then again, this situation was different and so was this Sherlock. She sat, patiently, at the table in the overused chair.

After some time, an hour and forty three minutes to be exact, Sherlock sat down across from her but still refused to look her in the eye, "Iris Brook."

"Sherlock Holmes." She tried catching his eye as she kept her hands folded on the table.

"You left."

"And I returned."

"Has it been four years already?"

"You already know the answer to that."

He did. It had been 36 months, nine days and three hours since he last saw this woman, "And you're here."

"I am."

"Why?"

Iris looked around the apartment, "Why are you here Sherlock?"

"You clearly learned a lot at your USA internship about interogati-“

Her tone cut across him, "Sherlock, can you fill me in?"

"Why don't you do it yourself?"

Iris sighed and stood from her chair, "Well, I'd say you got bored."

Sherlock looked at her defiantly and waved his hand for her to continue.

"You got very bored and found a new habit that you then learned would help you with your former habit."

"That's one way of describing it."

"Also…" Iris knew the answer that would hit, "I left."

Sherlock just nodded, "And you've picked up a tedious habit of stating the obvious." He stood and produced a cigarette from a coat pocket in a half second with a lighter that he twirled in his hand before lighting, "Would you like a light?"

Iris shook her head, "I don't smoke." Not to say she couldn't see the attraction to nicotine… spurs the neurological connections in the brain.

So does cocaine.

"Sherlock would you let me help you?"

"Help me?" He asked incredulously, "I fail to see reason that I would require help Miss Brook. I am living a fulfilling life of deducting and reasoning." He moved with obnoxious hand movements as always although the usually glint in his eyes was gone. He smiled but it was a sarcastic smile that Iris could see mockingly.

“Are you now?”

His eyes seemed to turn hard, “Yes, and there is no reason I need help from a self-indulgent, meticulous, vain, naïve, and trivial human being like yourself!”

He was standing too close, staring down at her and it took everything in Iris’s power not to flinch, both at the insults and the volume.

"Sherlock, get clean. We've got a case."

On her heels she spun to walk away when his voice came out cracking, "Don't leave."

It was so quiet she thought she didn't hear it but she replied anyways, "I'm not leaving; I'm closing your door." After all, it had been open for the last two hours, "So where do we start?"

Sherlock smiled something small and fragile. It was the closest thing to the remainder of her old friend that she had seen all day as he ran from experiment to experiment explaining them all while Iris listened with interest. She had left and he really hadn't cared, after all what genius cares about the absence of one person? But now that she was back he was glad to have someone to explain things to, it helped him think.

This was only the first day. Iris was going to get him clean but it wasn't going to be easy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Sherlock Holmes or anything related to BBC


	4. Wrong time, wrong place

A week later…

"I'm BORED!" Sherlock yelled coming out of his room although they both knew he was just pacing.

"Welcome to the world." Iris muttered while sitting in his chair with her nose in a book.

"Iris!" He threw her book from her and across the room and he leaned down to look at her, trapping her with his hands gripping both sides of the chair, "Give me some."

Iris defiantly leaned closer to his face, "I don't have any."

"Liar." His voice dropped and she felt just a tinge of guilt before it fled again.

"You are getting clean whether you like it or not."

His arms shook a little and Iris actually doubted her faith in him for just a second before his determination faltered and he stood straight again with a sigh of frustration. Suddenly he froze with an idea. Turning back to Iris who looked up at him innocently he placed his hands back on the arm rests and leaned over her again, "Ris, please."

"Did Sherlock Holmes just say please?" Iris joked.

Instead of anger, he leaned forward, closer to her and kept his eyes on her brown ones, "Ris?" He barely breathed out and Iris knew what he was attempting in a heartbeat, especially as he tilted his head and his eyes went to her lips for a half second.

"Sherlock," She breathed back in similar fashion before letting her eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips, "If you are attempting to seduce me, others have gone home alone after trying harder than you are."

Sherlock gave up the act quickly, and growled stepping away from her again, shouting, "Iris I just need some! Anything!"

Iris stood to retrieve her book, "The chance of you getting drugs is at zero at the moment."

"And the chance I have at a different kind of drug?" Sherlock, for not the first time in his life, watched her hips sway and her backside as she bent over to pick up her book. Of 'course when she straightened again and caught him, this time he kept eye contact with her instead of pretending he hadn't been looking.

She knew he was just trying to prove a case but sighing, "Sherlock, don't you think recreational sex is overrated?" 

Sherlock paced again and muttered, "Wouldn't know." Which Iris snapped to hear but didn't comment upon as he changed subject, "I cannot work this out Ris, I need something!"

With a smile Iris checked her phone. Although her smile faltered, she shook her head before taking his hand, "Come on." She was walking him towards his bedroom and he was looking at her like she had three heads.

"Did I misunderstand something?" Not that at the moment he'd complain.

Iris rolled her eyes and didn't respond as she let go of his hand in his room. It was a mess, so much different than how he used to keep things, "No, but I can't let you leave this apartment in your sleep robe." She shuffled around a bit before realizing that there was no system of organization. Sighing, she pushed him towards the bathroom, "Take a shower, I'll find you clothes."

Sherlock let her close the door behind him before he looked in the mirror for the first time in weeks, she was right, he looked terrible.

Iris was busy cleaning his room, big time cleaning. Her need for any sense of organization wasn't enough to clean up the mess but was enough to make her have an understanding of the room and its contents. She was able to pick out a pair of black dress pants and a purple button-down shirt. After some time, the shower turned off and when Sherlock came out of the bathroom he had a towel around his waist.

"Do I spell cologne and fabric softener?" He asked while using a small towel to shake out his hair. She turned to face him and froze, all this time she had just thought his strawberry blonde hair to be dirty, but now she saw, it was a dark brown.

Shaking herself out of it she nodded and held up her spray bottle, "Homemade wrinkle releaser." Clothes in this atmosphere were bound to be wrinkled, "The cologne counteracts the vinegar smell."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Unnecessary information." 

With effort she ignored the topless factor in Sherlock's physique, Iris looked at his eyes only, "Put these on and come out please." She said before walking out of his room and shutting the door behind her.

Sherlock looked around and could tell she cleaned up. Typical. He threw on the clothes and look in the mirror; straightening his shoulders he held his head a bit higher, not bad. He looked professional. Opening his door he walked out of his room to see Iris trying to tidy the kitchen, "What are you doing?"

She spun to face him and looked him over head to toe, ignoring his question, "Not bad. Can you go put on a black belt?"

He looked down at himself and shook his head, "Why do I need one?"

"It's functional." She rebutted and he stalked off, frustrated once again to go put on a belt, "Hurry up with a pair of shoes too, Mrs. Hudson is waiting for us." She was being harsh because she had to be. Sherlock came out of his room a second time to see that Iris had thrown her hair in a ponytail that reached her shoulders that were covered by a black peacoat that almost flared at her waist to make her look even smaller, "Ready?"

Sherlock nodded, her hair was in a ponytail which means that she had been too afraid to shower for the past twenty four hours with him in the house. Together they walked out of the door and down to the ground level and to the street before Iris called a cab. She could see Sherlock's stoic face as he gazed over everything realizing that life continued while he was holed up.

She gave the cabbie directions before sitting back to realize that they were sitting very close, not to Sherlock's attention of course as his eyes were looking out the window, "What exactly is this case?"

"Mrs. Hudson. That's all I'm telling you. You were bored and I'm entertaining you." Sherlock glared at her and it took her a moment to equate that to his old mock-glare.

"That sounds," Sherlock thought for a moment, "Fair." Iris smiled.

They arrived in a town outside of London, pulling up to a one level ranch styled home. Iris paid the cabbie but Sherlock was out of the door without a second hesitation. He was inspecting everything, the flowers in the garden, the chipped stone, everything. Then came the woman that was waiting at the door with her hand over her mouth.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Hudson!" Iris said happily as she followed the quick moving Sherlock and grabbed his hand before he could move right past the woman into the home; she knew he would, "How are you today?"

Mrs. Hudson opened the door for them and was smiling away, "Oh Iris, I'm doing very well, and this must be the friend you've told me about."

"Sherlock this is Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson this is my friend Sherlock Holmes." Iris said patiently and was surprised to see Sherlock tone himself down enough to smile and shake the woman's hand with the only hand Iris wasn't holding, "If you don't mind, I'm going to let him go so he can help you." She let go of his hand and with an appreciating nod he moved right into the door and returned to his thinking.

"He's a bit…" When Iris just tilted her head to the old woman she took back her words, "Oh it doesn't matter dear, come in, come in."

Her home was well kept and after all small talk was made and Sherlock had walked around the house at least three times he rejoined the ladies in the living room. He stood straight with his hands behind his back, "Mrs. Hudson? Your husband is on death row in Florida and you came here to hide away."

Mr. Hudson abused her, and to be on death row, had a few murders under his belt, possibly rape too. The woman exchanged looks with Iris before nodding, "Why, you're right, but how?"

"That's elementary but my question is why am I here?" Now he was looking at Iris.

She stood and smiled, "Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock here is a consulting detective, best in the world. He's going to write up an account of all the evidence he can find that would convict your husband."

"He is?" Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson asked at the same time.

"He is." Iris confirmed, and Sherlock made no argument.

For the next two days that's all Sherlock did. He sat down on the couch in his pajamas again and typed. Iris sat in his chair and read, after twelve hours of this Sherlock snapped out of his thought process to see Iris still awake in the chair, "It's four in the morning. You sleep at four in the morning."

"Not lately." Was all she said as she turned a page and Sherlock realized how much he had affected her.

She basically lived here for the past week, brought a bag and all. Every night she'd push him into his room telling him that if he didn't fall asleep he still had to be in there. Did she actually sleep? She had made him take his first shower in a week today but until then he can't remember when she took a shower. Maybe that's what she did while he slept. Where was her job? They wouldn't give her a week of leave, would they? How long had she had Mrs. Hudson's case and didn't finish it herself? It would've been easy for her.

Sherlock just went back to typing and researching.

Around twelve in the afternoon he realized that she had fallen asleep on the chair.  
He could look for her hiding place.  
If he was quiet, he could even slip out and slip back in.  
It would be so easy.

" _Oh Iris, I'm doing very well, and this must be the_ ** _friend_** _you've told me about."_ _  
_"Sherlock this is Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson this is my_ **friend** _Sherlock."__

He went back to typing.

Iris awoke with a start to see Sherlock still typing and she yawned stretching. He hadn't seemed to have moved since she last looked at him. She smiled at the man before getting up to make some tea and supper.

Another day went by no problem and Sherlock stayed awake through it all, Iris had managed to read the majority of his book case and take a long shower with minimum distrust of Sherlock. Sherlock did place the computer in her lap at one point, "Proofread."

He went to the kitchen and Iris read over the eleven page essay on why the man should be convicted. It was like most of Sherlock's school work, perfect. The few mistakes she found were grammatical and most likely due to rushing.

"It seems fantastic Sherlock." She met his eyes as he ate an apple with a smile, "Great job."

Sherlock smiled back at her and between the apple, the paper, the reasoning, and the smile, he almost looked like her Sherlock. Some people may criticize her but the last week of torture was worth it for that.

The paper was faxed and Mr. Hudson convicted within two days of the fax. Three days from that Mrs. Hudson was knocking on their apartment door with a plate of cookies which Iris took graciously before the older woman threw her arms around Sherlock's neck. She almost sobbed lightly and Sherlock looked to Iris with panicking wide eyes.

Iris smiled sympathetically at Sherlock before shaking her head with a shrug before helping herself to a cookie. Sherlock hesitantly patted Mrs. Hudson's back before speaking, "Would you like to stay for tea?" The woman accepted as she let go of him and wiped her tears. Iris motioned to the kitchen for Sherlock to make the tea himself and he nodded.

As they sat around the small table that Iris had cleared off not a few days ago, they all spoke of small talk and of funny happenings. It wasn't until almost all their tea was gone that Mrs. Hudson stood, "I really do thank you Sherlock, and of 'course you Iris, and if either of you should ever need something do not hesitate to call or drop by. Don't be strangers!" Her instructions were clear as she hugged both of the young adults before leaving reluctantly once again.

"Sherlock Holmes, congratulations on doing a good deed." Iris said as she looked up at him and hit his shoulder with hers, "I didn't have to bribe you or anything."

"You wouldn't have bribed me." Sherlock responded with a side smirk.

Tilting her head coyly Iris stepped into his personal space without hesitation and lifted her right hand to his chest, running it from his neck to down. Her voice dropped a register, "You sound so sure?"

Sherlock's hands took her waist even as he raised an eyebrow and smirked, "Positive." They both stayed in that position, leaning towards each other just a little bit before Iris smirked and took a step back, that to Sherlock seemed so far away now.

With a laugh she began to clean up the tea, "Well you are always right." Sherlock was surprised but quickly made up for it by rolling his eyes and straightening the chairs.

Iris knew he wasn't totally clean yet, and he'd be yelling at her again tomorrow but she'd deal with that then. For now, she'd like the feeling of her almost Sherlock although she did wonder, how did they ever become friends?


	5. A Spoonful of Sugar

The photo: On one nightstand a stack of books and cold medicine. The other nightstand held a family size hand sanitizer pump. On the bed, sat a bathrobe-clad Iris and a very prim and proper Sherlock. Between them, a laptop playing Mary Poppins.

“Ris! What did I say about keeping the fiction OFF the bookcase?” Sherlock’s voice boomed from his living room, which now did, sort of, resemble a room in which things could live.

Iris, who was currently alphabetizing the newly bought pantry goods groaned aloud despite her usual patience. She sniffled for the twenty-third time that day.

Despite hearing her stomp into the living room Sherlock did not spin fast enough to stop the hardcover from smacking his shoulder squarely. After wincing, his grey eyes narrowed at the smaller girl, “Hell of a throw.”

She was glaring, brown eyes ablaze, “Just leave the bookshelf alone!”

Sherlock seemed to want to say something but was struck at her furious expression. Closing his mouth he picked up the thrown book, “I- Ris, I didn’t-“ Again when he looked at her, her burning eyes seemed to snag on him.

Iris sighed, “Just leave it alone, Sherlock. I’m tired. I’ll fix it later.” Like a tree falling, she toppled onto the newly bought couch.

Sherlock moved quickly at first, thinking she fainted or something before he noticed her eyes following her, “I’m fine, I’m just tired.”

Sherlock’s eyebrow seemed to twitch…

 _Tiredness_. _Irratibility._ _Weakness_ \- No if that throw was anything to go off of. _Fever_.

Sherlock stepped forward and laid a hand on the back of his hand on her forehead.

“What are you doing?”

Sherlock appeared to be thinking for a moment before saying, “You have a fever.”

 “Leave me alone,” She groaned before coughing into her elbow, “I’m fine.”

Sherlock stood up and moved away, turning off the light as he went.

He stood in the kitchen tapping his fingers on the countertop. _Google_. He went back out to the living room and opened Iris’s laptop, carefully angling the light away from her.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not going to leave the flat if I take a nap?”

There was a long pause, “No, I’ll be right here.”

So when Iris did wake up an hour later and she was alone in the flat she was righteously peeved.

With her coat in hand and unlaced shoes on, she swung open the front door of the flat and went storming down the stairs, “That son of a-“

Around the next corner, she sneezed and crashed right into a taller man who easily steadied her, long fingers holding her arms.

“If you make me sick the flat will become dangerous.” Iris laughed against her better judgment as she sneezed again and Sherlock sighed as if she was the biggest nuisance, “Come on,” His hand on her waist guiding her up the stairs again, “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Iris sniffled as they walked back up, “I think it might be fun if we were both dangerous.”

Sherlock smiled, “The European Union dissipate and treaties would burn. Come on, I got you chicken noodle soup. You can wear my bathrobe.”

Iris moved a little faster. Sherlock knew she liked his blue bathrobe. She’d always touch it if she walked by it. Only doing it while he was wearing it occasionally, but it amused him too much to say anything about it for fear she’d stop.

Once back to the flat, Iris tossed off her coat and shoes. Sherlock led her to the bedroom and held out the bathrobe as if presenting a fur coat.

Iris curled it on and fell onto the bed, pulling covers over her. She forgot to yell at him for leaving before she sunk into comfortability.

Then she remembered and in a terrified haze sat up to shout, “You’re cooking?”

“Only soup. I have a recipe.”

She had to cough before she could respond… so she didn’t. Instead, she laid back down.

Eventually, a weight sank into the bed near her. She rubbed at her eyes, “You told me you wouldn’t leave the flat.”

“I lied,” Sherlock said it so simply that Iris rolled her eyes. Then she saw the books on the end table. All fiction. And the tissue box. Sherlock himself was holding a tray with soup on it. At least Iris thought it was soup. She couldn’t really smell it but it generously looked like soup, “Eat.” She noticed the tray also contained a glass of water and a spoonful of …

“Is that honey?”

“A spoonful of it will ease your throat.”

Iris chuckled to herself seeing the Dayquil on the nightstand, “Or help the medicine go down.”

Sherlock looked puzzled at her expression and she smiled, “Thank you, Sherlock, I suppose with all this I can forgive any illicit activities you left the flat for.”

“Nothing terribly fun I’m afraid.” He gave her a look that asked her to trust him and Iris smiled back.

She hesitantly picked up the spoon with honey before putting it in her mouth prepared for the sweetness of it. Iris was a sucker of sorts for sweet things, comfy things, and wine. Sherlock knew this. He knew that she liked to organize everything and kept a strict planner of events. She liked the knocker on the door to be straight and for every light bulb to be working. She liked cleaning while stressed and despised touching strangers.

He knew all of this and yet he did not understand why, when she took the sticky spoon from her mouth and a thin thread of honey trailed down her lip, he couldn’t stop looking at her. Even when she laughed at the messiness and her tongue darted out to lick at her bottom lip. Especially when her tongue licked at her bottom lip.

This was ridiculous. He could not just stare at her. She had returned to him. She’d spent weeks getting him clean. He’d seen her at her worst, and this certainly wasn’t her best.

Iris, after being quite sure that the spoon was clean of honey, regarded the soup, “This will be edible?”

Sherlock was slightly blushing, likely at his cooking Iris thought. He certainly hadn’t cooked for her since she’d been back and at Uni he was particularly terrible at it, “At the very least.”

Even with limited taste, Iris knew it was delicious. It was exactly how chicken soup was supposed to taste, “I haven’t had chicken soup since…”

“Your mother died, I believe.” Iris quirked an eyebrow at his revelation and he backtracked, “You told me back in Uni when you caught the flu after exams one year.” The one time she’d studied enough to beat him in 4 of 5 subjects.

Iris smiled because even though he was insensitive sometimes, the chicken soup was delicious. And his eyes were soft, “Thank you, Sherlock. Have you never seen Mary Poppins?”

Obviously, she lost him with that comment, “Um, what?”

She chuckled that turned to a cough, “Get the laptop, we can watch it.”

And that is how Iris and Sherlock ended up on one bed, watching Mary Poppins on the laptop screen between them. An empty bowl sat on the ground with the spoon in it. On one nightstand a stack of books and cold medicine. The other nightstand held a family size hand sanitizer pump.

And if Iris fell asleep by the song about the man feeding the pigeons and Sherlock turned it off promptly, then she did not need to be the wiser.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Sherlock Holmes nor anything from the BBC


	6. A Lovely Night

It was an autumn walk through Hyde Park. The colors on the trees lighting up the afternoon. Iris and Sherlock strolled casually, neither was talking. But every stride was matched, despite one of them being a good 4 inches taller. When the wind blew, they tilted into one another without seeming to realize it. When one stopped, nothing needed to be said to hail the other. They were marionettes with shared strings.

Iris was making a cup of tea in the kitchen and considering the newspaper jobs section when the doorbell rang. She was hardly most decent for company and moved to speak into the ringer when Sherlock came striding from the bedroom, buttoning his cuffs, “They are for me.”

“You look good,” Iris was sort of shocked how nicely Sherlock liked to dress these days. It was like there was no medium between a manic druggie and respectable consultant for him. To be honest, though, her teasing words fell flat and Sherlock’s penetrating gaze fell hard on her, “Oh don’t give me that look. It’s a step up from dirty sweat pants and shirts that are much too large is all.”

She had turned back to her tea and newspaper before she would have caught an odd knowing smile on Sherlock’s face.

Probably for the best. She might have blushed if she saw it.

Sherlock had only begun realizing he liked to see her blush. Sure, he’d noticed his attraction at Uni but this was a very different life. And she was a very different Iris.

Meanwhile, Iris never used to blush around her best friend at Uni. She had always known Sherlock to be too remote to consider a relationship, and the two of them too good of friends to ruin it with something stupid. Now, well…

…let’s just say that receiving a text from Sherlock on a day that she was out asking how to properly wash her favorite lacy bra in the laundry, had made her much more self-conscience in nature.

Nonetheless, it was better for both of them to regain some space. Iris retreated to the dining table with her tea and newspaper while Sherlock took his client in the living room.

While he wasn’t very popular yet, maybe a client a week, it kept him relatively busy with how obsessive he still was over every case.  Iris and he coexisted in a way but lately, she’d been more bored. He was clean and living a fairly fulfilling life. She’d done it. But what did she do now?

She never thought she was the type of girl to uproot her life for a man but it seemed she’d done it accidentally anyway. For the sort of man that wouldn’t even consider the implications too.

Her tea was the perfect temperature.

Getting a job would be nice. Although she was sure Mycroft would arrange one for her if she asked, she wanted to try something without the weight of government in it. Biochemistry was a wide field to be explored and since graduating years ago she hasn’t seen enough of it.

“Thank you for visiting with me, I do ask discretion-“ Iris’s head perked up.

“Yes, yes, Scotland Yard would not be pleased. The case.” Sherlock commanded rather than asked for practically everything, “What’s made you so desperate? Wait, don’t tell me. I’d rather find it.”

Iris stood again, creeping around the corner of the kitchen to see Inspector Lestrade from months ago sitting in the middle of Sherlock’s living room.

With arms crossed she leaned against the wall and smiled, “Detective Lestrade, I did not anticipate seeing you again.”

The greying man spun, shocked before regaining some sense, “Miss Brook, what a surprise.”

Sherlock seemed to analyze their interaction with the same pragmatic mind that analyzed the murder set up in front of him on paper.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Iris said.

“I-I-I am glad everything has worked out. It has worked out, right?” The inspector looked between Sherlock and Iris with a hopeful look while Iris looked over the older man to Sherlock herself.

At her face Sherlock seemed to understand, “Ah, yes, you were in charge of ensuring Iris see to me instead of jail time. Everything is great, let’s get on with the case.”

It wasn’t until after Lestrade had left with some answers and further questions to look into that Sherlock mentioned anything to Iris, “Mycroft brought you back?”

Iris was seated on the floor, the case files spread out around her, “Yes and I believe that everything has worked out well enough.”

Sherlock saw the open newspaper still on the counter, “And now you want to leave?”

“Hardly, but this apartment is getting smaller and smaller. I need a place of my own and for that, I need a job. I presume you’ve already considered defining the type of grass in this footprint and localizing it to areas of interest?”

The taller man sat on the couch behind her to look over her shoulder, “I don’t like the bed.”

“I’ve caught you sleeping on it when you think I’m out. You do. The couch, although new, is not a bed. I need a place to live. And the possibility of identifying the brand of shoe?”

“Of course, size 11 1/2 hiking boot, only sold at Harrods.”

“Harrods selling hiking boots?”

“The chic kind for the ultra elite.” At Iris’s noncommittal noise Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “You want a pair now don’t you?”

“I highly doubt they’d be comfortable,” Iris said softly in the kind of voice that one reminds you of what NOT to do, “How about using nuclear magnetic resonance to take a look at the perfume type? It’s been noted as a recurring element.”

Sherlock smiled fondly at the back of her head, “Nuclear magnetic resonance is hardly the answer to every problem.” Her graduate work involved a lot of it and so she did tend to be biased.

“Why wouldn’t it work here?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t find a reason that she couldn’t rebuff, “We could just find a different apartment together.”

…

Goosebumps rose along Iris’s arm under her aran sweater but she kept her poker face, “And ruin your bachelor pad? Goodness, what an offer.”

Sherlock tried not to think further into the offer but his mind was already rolling, “But you live here now, bachelor status is already compromised,” Iris laughed here but Sherlock continued, “Two is as cheap as one in some places of central London. And what if I was to slip, who would keep me from falling?” The last was said in an acting voice that Iris knew too well.

It was all a lot to deal with and Iris had spent the last 6 months dealing with Sherlock daily. His casual offering of merging their lives rubbed her patience the wrong way and she found herself saying, “Sherlock, while I appreciate the sentiment-“ At that word Sherlock straightened and Iris stood from her pile of work, “I doubt you truly understand the question I am raising. What am I to do for life now? Everything I have done since returning has revolved around you, which I do not begrudge you.

I am so happy to see you on your feet and at your best again. Please do not doubt that I would come from any corner of the world to save you, but what do I do now?” She stepped out of her place and to the door.

Sherlock tried to see around the possible hurt that her statement could’ve inflicted and instead on the problem at hand. How to keep her close, and happy.

“I’m going to Hyde Park for a walk, would you like to come?”

When he opened his mouth to speak she held up a hand cutting him off, “I’d prefer a silent walking partner.” He nodded and stood to put on his coat.

He preferred the busy streets for his walks, but Iris had grown up in the countryside of Ireland and despised traffic.

 Together they walked out the flat and hailed a cab.

They walked and moved as a reflection of the other constantly, and yet in perfect silence neither wanted to admit that they cared more than they thought.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of BBC's works.


End file.
